


Anarchy in the UK

by suokeye



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2doc - Freeform, M/M, studoc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-07-29 12:43:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16264445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suokeye/pseuds/suokeye
Summary: Murdoc Niccals is an aspiring musician in Stoke on Trent, England. After a series of somewhat fortunate events, it looks like he might finally be getting somewhere.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mintcherry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintcherry/gifts).



The slim silhouette of a young Murdoc Niccals was cast on the thin wall of an old garage. He finely tuned his bass with care as he and the members of his band began to pack up from their unsuccessful practice. He was thinking of dropping Crimson Backdraft and starting over yet again. Starting bands that eventually ran themselves into the ground began to feel like the young man's forte. He put his bass in its bag and walked out of the garage. Practice had ended sour and he didn't feel like bidding his band-mates any sort of farewell. 

"Bloody bastards...this band is total shit." He groaned while slinging his gig bag over his aching shoulder. Approaching a street corner, he stopped to light a cigarette. The short mop-topped bassist took a long drag in an effort to relax himself, but he tried to no avail. Alcohol could help him though. It was always there for him, sitting inside of about every cabinet of the Niccals shack of a home. Murdoc walked home hastily and bitterly. He had tried so hard to make the band work while the others were just in to get some money for fags and other drugs. Drugs were nice but music meant far more to him. He needed something new.

It was eerily silent on his stroll home, it gave him a strange stomach-churning premonition. He walked into through the wooden door of his home sweet home. Chips of paint fell off as he closed it.

“What the fuck, is wrong with you?! Why is your stupid arse back here?” It seemed that his father, Sebastian, was not in good mood. Although, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Murdoc was not having it. Not tonight. He kept silent and proceeded toward his bedroom, when his father’s veiny hand caught him by the shoulder.

“I asked you a goddamn question! Where's your money?!”

His stomach flipped around inside but Murdoc promised to himself that he wouldn't let his growing anxiety show through. “Money? I don't have a single pound for you! I-I already pay my rent and I buy my own fags, not yours!” he spat out.

Sebastian smiled darkly and it was only a matter of seconds before his hard, bony fist collided with Murdoc’s stomach. As he keeled over in pain, his father wrapped his cold fingers around his neck. Murdoc’s widened eyes looked up fearfully at Sebastian.

“H-Hannibal…” Murdoc choked out.

“Don’t think about it, you manky little shit! He’s not here and you won’t be either! Get out, now!” Sebastian’s voice boomed through the place. Murdoc could have sworn he felt the walls shake around him and he bolted outside as fast as he could. He ran until he absolutely had to stop to catch his breath. Only when he stopped did he feel a stinging sensation on his cheek. Bass still slung around his torso, Murdoc walked to a nearby record store and looked at his reflection in the closed shop window. A large red mark overlaid his left cheek, where he assumed his father had slapped him. He was too concerned with getting out to even notice at the time it happened.

Record sleeves sat propped up behind the window and Murdoc couldn’t bring himself to look away. The Rolling Stones’ newest release at the time was “Tattoo You”. A single on the record titled “Start Me Up” he had just got weeks ago. He was extremely happy that it was the first record he had bought. “Bought” meaning that he had stole the record and booked it out of the store. Mick Jagger had it all according to Murdoc; People in and out of his bedroom, money, a great voice, fame, and most importantly, an actual band. He really hoped things would change sooner rather than later.

Murdoc walked around the corner and sat in an alley. It smelled of what he thought might have been rotting flesh.

“Hey.”

A bit surprised, Murdoc looked around in the dark only to find a woman sitting by a dumpster, enjoying her cigarette. He studied her carefully and cocked an eyebrow.

“What do you want?”

“Just some fun.”

Fucking hell, if he had a pound for every time he heard that, he’d probably be able to buy some records with his own money. As he stood up, Murdoc glanced behind him, making sure nobody was around. He walked toward the girl and gazed at her. She had a gorgeous face, a curly blonde bob and an Italian leather purse at her side.

“What do you charge?”

“For a cute one like you? 10 pounds for a night.”

Murdoc smirked, “Shall we?” he held out his hand. The woman took it and off they went. Little did she know that in the morning, she would wake up alone, missing both her black laced panties and a purse loaded with cash.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc rediscovers defeat at the hands of another failed band, but somehow he still has faith. It could also be the obscene amount of vodka and rum in his system.

Murdoc lied in the back of his mate's van with a terrible hangover. "Another dud...another bloody dud of a band and any shot at success is gone and dead." He groaned and curled up. The van was filled with the thick scent of smoke and alcohol from the night before. He miserably wiped his runny nose on his bare arm. He was exhausted and he needed a drink. Murdoc hadn't been home in weeks because his father belted him again, and it was one of the worst ones he ever got. All Murdoc had done was spill a bit of vodka on the floor in front of his father. He knew it was coming, but it didn't make the cold leather mercilessly whipping his skin any less painful.

"You need a ride home, mate?" His bandmate in the front seat had just woken up. Murdoc steadied his voice.

"Yeah, just drop me at the liquor store in Stoke."

"Alright, sorry it didn't turn out the way you wanted, man."

"Mm, no use crying over spilt rum." Murdoc slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a dry flask. “Nngh, Goddammit!”

“Here,” the man in the driver’s seat rolled him an unopened bottle of vodka, “you can keep it, mate.”

The bottle was warm and was a bit grimy, but it was free booze and who was Murdoc to pass that kind of thing up? He held it close like it was his most prized possession and watched the hills of Essex pass by through the window.

“You still going to try this band thing out again?”

With a nod, Murdoc opened the bottle and took a swig of the vodka. Determined as ever, Murdoc Niccals was more than ready to take the world by the testacles and make it his stage. So what if The Tigers of Pangtang was a bust? They had made a decent amount of money from doing well at gigs. But it just wouldn't suffice for Murdoc. He needed more energy and better beats. And a lead singer other than him might be beneficial to the overall success of this band from the not-so distant future. At least the money he had could pay for a shit apartment for a few months.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D-Day

"Wot's the date today, mate? Give me a light, would ya?"

Murdoc pushed his face with a cigarette pressed on his lips toward a friend of his. He lit Murdoc's cigarette and rolled his eyes.

"It's the 15th of August, ya sod."

"Shut ya face,” he hissed, “now here's the deal. I'm driving. Understood? We're in and out. Grab as many keyboards n' synths as you can carry and get the bloody hell out."

They nodded and Murdoc knew they had understood. He had gone over this plan several times. He inhaled the last of his cigarette before pulling up a oil-stained red bandana and tying it around the lower half of his face. He tossed the cigarette over his shoulder and got into the driver's seat of his Vauxhall Astra.

~ 

_Oh, Christ...is he dead?_

__

__

Leaning over the limp and bloodied head of the shop clerk, Murdoc wasn’t sure of what he’d do. His mates had all run out. Dammit, he didn’t want to murder anyone, he just wanted some new keyboards. What a bust.

“Oi! Hands up!”

Murdoc squeezed his eyes shut, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

_Never thought I was going to get nicked by the cops again._

__

__

He whipped around and gunned it. Before he knew it, Murdoc was on the ground. He had only ran several feet before being tased. He howled with pain for several seconds as a cold set of handcuffs quickly constricted his wrists. The electric flow stopped and he whimpered a bit before lying still.

_I am NOT going to be a jailbird again! One night in a cell was enough for me!_

__

__

The black-haired nuisance was jerked up and shoved into the back of the car, hitting his head in the process.

“Fine! Take me to jail you sodding cunts!” Murdoc yelled from the empty car.

As disoriented as he was, Murdoc saw several cops walk over to the blue-haired bloke. He saw a cop put his ear to the young man’s chest and give a thumbs-up.

_He’s breathing? He’s alive?! Wow...I thought for sure he was a goner. Crashed right into his face!_

__

__

He leaned back and groaned in pain. If there was one thing Murdoc hated, and there were many things, it was the cops. They already had him on file since he assaulted a cop a couple years back. Of course he had been rip-roaring drunk at the scene but he would have done the same thing sober. Murdoc knew as well as anyone that if the cops had been carrying, that day would've been his last. But at the moment, all he could think about was spending a month in jail. That's probably how long it would be until his court date and he knew that no one would even fathom bailing him out; especially not his mess of a brother or joke of a father.


	4. Chapter 4

Murdoc walked into the creaky apartment of Stu Pot, the man he had so unfortunately hit with his car. Unfortunate for Murdoc because now he had to take care of the bloke. Unfortunately for Mr. Pot, Murdoc had never been known to be a particularly caring soul. Murdoc closed the door and set his keys down on the counter.

_Not bad in here. Looks like a place myself and one of the old mates would have hit for a B &E._

__

__

He looked around and walked to the bedroom, not bothering to take off his ankle-length leather boots. The mop-topped man met the bedroom door with some unfamiliar hesitation. That blue-headed tosser would probably stab him if he got too close. He held the doorknob with his thumb and index finger, turning it as quietly as he could.

“Good morning.” He looked inside as he opened the door to see a mess of blue hair covering the man’s face. He was motionless. “Asleep, are we?” At that moment he heard a hoarse groan and saw the man’s one visible eye turn to face Murdoc’s thin figure. Murdoc hesitantly pushed the man’s blue locks out of his face, unveiling his eyes. His left completely blacked out. A quick gasp escaped his lips and he stepped back.

“Son of a gun,” Murdoc muttered while grabbing the gold inverted cross tied around his neck for security. “Your eye is blacker than the depths of Hell. Can you see out of it…?” Murdoc squinted to look in the eye as the blue hair blanketed itself back over the silent man’s face. Murdoc had seen blood and guts just feet away from his face before, why did the blacked-out eye put him on such an edge? It might have been his subconscious lurching about in guilt, but who's to say? He'd never admit it, even if he felt consumed by it.

Taking out his new box of cigarettes, Murdoc sat on the bed beside Stu’s legs. The only reason he knew his name was because the judge had said it so many damn times while he was being charged. The bassist lit his cigarette and looked about the bedroom. It was crowded with posters and pictures layered over one another. Some had drawings on them. Some were marked with words, maybe lyrics. One particular poster caught Murdoc’s deep red eye. It was of the popular synth band, The Human League. He looked back at Stu and to the right of him sat an old keyboard on the bed.

“Do you play this keyboard? You interested in music, mate?”

Murdoc moved to hand to touch the keyboard, provoking another pained groan from Pot. Smirking, Murdoc took the keyboard into his arms, tracing the smooth keys. He could hear the blue-haired man making a genuine effort to speak out against the tainting of his precious instrument but no words came out.

“Casio VL Tone, eh? These aren't too bad. You’ve had this for awhile, I can tell, Stu.”

Murdoc looked at him only to see Stu’s eyes now up on Murdoc’s face, blankly staring. He looked very depressed. Blue hair a mess, one of his long arms hanging off the side his bed, while the other was draped over his belly. The only noise in the room was the rattling of an old air conditioner and Stu’s quiet occasional breath.

With a sigh, Murdoc set the keyboard down beside Stu again, watching his unharmed eye glance down at it.

“I did bring you some food, you know.”

Silence followed.

“Well aren't you lovely company? Prick.” Murdoc shook head disappointingly as he got up from the bed to fetch his supper.


	5. Chapter 5

_Oh bollocks…_

He'd done it again. Murdoc stared in awe at the motionless body of Stu once again. He could see his lengthy arms twisted about him like branches of an old tree. Stu had gone right through the windscreen of his car. Maybe Murdoc's idea of a fun night out in Nottingham wasn't the safest thing for a vegetable of a passenger. Gripping the steering wheel with anticipation, the mop-topped thirty-one year old leaned forward, his bony sternum grazing the center of it. Part of him felt like, after the first accident, there was no way Stu had survived being flung through a windscreen. 

__

__

_Come on, get up...I don't want to have to scoop up a body in front of all these people._

__

__

It suddenly came to Murdoc that they were not alone. There was a small crowd a short distance away that was watching him pull off some stunt driving in the carpark, Now they were about to watch a man die, it was a depressing thing to fathom. Murdoc sighed heavily and sat back in the seat of the car.

“Goodbye freedom, hello jail time. Would that count as first or second degree?” He shook his head. At that exact moment, Murdoc heard a very familiar groan. It was what Murdoc assumed to be Stu’s dying breath. He shifted the car into reverse to see something move out the corner of his eye. He stomped down on the brake and quickly turned his head to see Stu slowly standing up. It was something out of a zombie film. Dawn of the Dead and The Evil Dead were etched into his brain now. They were pretty much the only movies Stu watched when Murdoc came over to care for him.

“No fucking way.” Murdoc muttered as he felt a genuine smile spread across his face. Stu stood tall and turned around, revealing his other eye that now mirrored the one that was the first to be blacked-out. There he was, tall, pretty, no eyeballs. “My frontman.” Murdoc’s smiled turned into a nasty smirk. He got out of the car and walked over to Stu.

“Hey, Stu. Are you ok?” Murdoc tried to look concerned as he asked the question but nothing could overcome the pure excitement he felt brewing at the center of his chest. His ears were soon filled with a very strong southern English accent, around Brighton he guessed. Maybe, Crawley even. A bit surprising to finally hear his voice.

“Eugh...yeah, I'm ok...I think.”

“Cool, you should join my band.”

Stu cocked his head, blood dripping from his eye socket, “Errr...yeah, I guess.” He found it an odd question to ask since he was just flung out of a windscreen, maybe it was just him.

“Can you sing?”

“Kinda, I'm not bad.”

Murdoc bared his teeth, quickly losing his patience since he felt so close to forming a band for the first time in several months. “Can you sing or not, you knopjockey?!”

Flinching from the sudden outburst Stu nodded, “Y-Yes! I can sing! Whatever you want mate!”

“Perfect.” Murdoc’s devious smile returned and he looked to where the crowd of people once was to see they had all fled. It didn't surprise him. If someone got hurt, everyone ran for the fear of getting into some sort of trouble. Turning back to Stu, he took a gander at him. Craning his neck up to get a better look at him, Murdoc realized how tall he was. Damn, that pissed him off. He spent months taking care of Stu and now he had to look up at him just to see his dumb face.

Scuffing his shoe against the ground nervously, Stu tapped Murdoc’s shoulder, “My ‘ead ‘urts...can you take me home? Think I might need a plaster and a vicodin.”

“I think you may need more n’ that, mate,” Murdoc trailed off, “...Of course! Yes, it certainly has been a very long night. You must be exhausted.” Murdoc put on the fanciest fake grin he had and opened the door of the backseat for his new frontman. “Go ahead and have a seat.”

Before stepping into the backseat of the car Stu gave Murdoc a big stupid grin. “You know Murdoc, ‘at’s very nice of ya.”

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” Murdoc crooned sweetly as he could as he watched Stu get inside and sit cross-legged, “Ya mind if we stop by my place first?” Stu’s head cocked to the side a bit, “Oh sure, I don’t really care.” Murdoc closed Stu’s door, plopped down into the driver’s seat and started for home. It took but maybe 20 minutes for Stu to drift off to sleep and Murdoc prayed that he wouldn’t have to carry the bloke up like a child. But of course, to his luck, Murdoc parked and looked to the backseat with dismay and there he was, asleep.

With a soft thump, Stu’s body hit Murdoc's worn down, purple velvet sofa. Murdoc looked at the blue-haired man’s head, studying it. “Two dents, right on the sides of his bloody head.” He shook his head and snickered. “I should start to call him 2D.” His eyes immediately widened and his heart pounded against his ribs like an animal rattling its cage. Or maybe that was a side effect of his frequent fag. “Shit, I gotta write that down. 2D…” Murdoc beamed and sat on the floor to relax.

_...What the hell just happened?_

__

__

Murdoc wearily looked around the living room. It was cluttered with archaic books, loose paper, full ashtrays, and amplifiers. His flying v bass, El Diablo, sat proudly in the corner, untouched by the dust that had settled on the rest of the room. He looked at his only prized possession and crawled on his knees over to it. The deep red bass guitar was taken into Murdoc’s arms and he began to tune the strings. One thing that was constantly on Murdoc's mind other than when he was going to have another smoke was music. Hundreds of songs ran through his head a day and he never wanted it to stop. Propping himself up against the corner, he began to play pluck away on his instrument. A song he was quite familiar with since he was a teenager came to mind. Soon after playing out the brief intro, he found himself uttering out the lyrics. Knowing he was as good of a singer as an old horse, he thought he should stop. He looked to the sofa and saw 2D sound asleep.

_Fuck it, he’s out like a light._

“How I'm moved, how you move me

With your beauty's potency

You give me life, please don't let me go

You give me life, please don't let me go

Oh, you give me life, please don't let me go

You crush the lily in my soul

Soul”

2D’s left eye opened a sliver; he’d been woken up by the bassist. He couldn't see very well but he heard the low twangy notes from the bass but what was that other sound? ...Was Murdoc singing? God, it was terrible. It was tolerable though in a very strange way. His eye closed again and a smile spread across his face as Murdoc’s music beckoned him back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

A very exhausted 2D woke up with a gasp. He looked over his shoulder at a digital alarm clock on a coffee table. “Where the bloody ‘ell…?” He groaned. 2D craned his neck to see a bit a black hair from what looked to be the kitchen. Vision still blurred and voice a bit hoarse he was a bit confused. This wasn't his home. “Murdoc? Is ‘at you?”

Silence. But the black hair at the back of the figure’s head bobbed in and out of sight from around the corner. Hearing small grunts and murmurs, 2D shakily stood and rubbed his dark eyes. After taking a good look, there was no doubting that it was Murdoc. It was rather strange though what he was doing, 2D hadn't seen him like this. He crept into the kitchen silently.

Murdoc was bent over at a small table, writing on a cheap notepad. His pen was mercilessly attacking the vulnerable paper. His left hand supported his cheek as he leaned against it, falling asleep but jerking awake every other few moments. 2D stood there for a good few minutes watching him. He always had a problem with staring off. “You ok, man?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Murdoc jumped to his feet, startled at the sudden speech of his newly acquired possible roommate. He looked at 2D’s slim figure slouched over from obvious exhaustion and immediately knew how he felt. With a deep sigh, the elder put a hand on his hip.

“Yes, I'm fine.”

“Where are we?”

“My place.”

“But how did we get to your place if you were taking me to mine?” 2D cocked his head in total confusion.

_God, will this bumbling moron shut his trap and let me work?_ Rolling his eyes, Murdoc replied in a gravelly voice, “I lied.” 

“Oh…” his black eyes were now searching the floor. Good thing too, Murdoc was beginning to find them kind of creepy.

2D yawned and scratched the back of his neck, “Well are you going to sleep or what?”

“I will in a moment, ok? If I'm pestering you, then you go in my room and sleep in the bloody bed. Be my guest.”

The younger of the two felt his cheeks grow warm as he stuttered, “Th-Then where will you sleep?”

Murdoc sat back down with a sigh, “On the sofa, now just go back to bed, please.”

“Murdoc?”

“What?!” He snarled and whipped his head to face 2D.

“Do you ‘ave any coffee?”

Murdoc frowned. This clearly was the first time Stu had been out of his own home for awhile. Rolling his eyes, Murdoc scoffed, “What d’you think this is? A bed and breakfast? Be a good boy and maybe, just maybe, I'll get you some come morning. Goodnight.” Murdoc raised his eyebrows which became imperceptible behind his black fringe, as if to usher 2D to the bedroom. He watched him disappear behind the corner of the kitchen and waited another few short seconds to hear the door creak nearly shut. With a sigh, Murdoc crossed his arms over his chest and stared at a new, untapped piece of paper.

The bassist was also a lyricist, and few knew about his endeavors with writing unless they had previously worked with him. He considered it another talent of his, one that he liked to keep personal. However, this was one of the few times that his head was stirring and no new concepts occupied his mind. Sitting at the puny kitchen table, he ran his fingers over his black jeans.

_Maybe I was wrong. It could just as easily go to Hell in a handbag._

Hours passed and the early morning sunshine soon shone through the window. It illuminated Murdoc’s black hair as he slept slumped over on the table.

2D lied still in the plush bed surrounded by velour pillows. He felt like a prince in it. When he saw the sun rise out of the corner if his eye, he could hardly bring himself to get up. “Bloody sun’s bright this morning.” he groaned, shoving his face down in a very soft and pink pillow. Half a second was all it took for 2D to pull his head back and hold back a gag. The pillow reeked of sweat and sex. He was no stranger to either scent but the concentration and combination of them was all too much for him to bear. Sitting back, propping himself up with his shoulders, he was still for a moment to take in his surroundings for the first time.

The room was surprisingly dark considering the sun was rising. It had one small window to 2D’s right. Strange paintings of shadowy scenes lined the remaining grey walls. One looked like it was of the devil. The sight provoked a memory from some time before. Murdoc had just arrived to take care of him. As he carried Stu to the sofa, a golden pendant of an inverted cross bounced to and fro the middle of the bassist’s sternum. “Maybe he really is a Satanist or something…” he mumbled to himself as he scooted toward the edge of the bed and stood, making sure he didn’t step on piles of empty bottles and cans strewn across the bedroom floor. He silently stepped out of the eerie bedroom and into the comforting light of the kitchen. Next to Murdoc's head on the kitchen table was a half-empty bottle of rum and small vinyl turntable from the early sixties, is what 2D had guessed. It wasn’t moving since the needle was put on its stand, but the record caught the tall man’s eye, so he bent over to read the label.

_Shout at the Devil...Mötley Crüe, right? I knew he was a metalhead but they’re a bit glam too. High heels and lipstick and such._

He began to feel himself drift off into thought before Murdoc’s breathing hitched and his eyes slowly opened. Feeling a bit panicky 2D quickly walked to a cabinet and stuck his head in it. Slowly sitting up, Murdoc ran a hand through his shaggy hair with a groan. Turning his head, he saw 2D and sighed. “What in the bloody shit are you up to?” he said groggily. 2D felt his face heat up and kept his head in the cabinet. “U-Uh, I’m looking for coffee!” he began to twiddle his thumbs nervously. “Wrong cabinet, you twit.” Murdoc shook his head and slowly rose to his feet. He gripped the edge of the table to stay balanced since he may have had a bit too much rum before he fell asleep the night before. Murdoc felt strange. He liked 2D; it was nothing that he’d ever admit to him, but he quite liked him. “2D you’re something else.”

He cocked his head, “2D? Who’s ‘at?”

“It’s you. It’s your new nickname, yeah? Stage name, rather… You ever notice that you’ve got two dents in your head?”

2D, looking just as confused as before shook his head, “Er, no. Not really.”

Murdoc scoffed, “Course not. You’re not the brightest one are you?”

“Well…not particularly, no.”

“Hehe, no no, don’t be ashamed, lad” Murdoc cracked a smile, “You’d just imagine with all those dents in your bloody head that you may not have the highest IQ.”

“What’s ‘at mean?”

“What’s what mean?”

“IQ.”

“Oh, Lucifer,” Murdoc shook his head as he walked to another cabinet and pulled out a bag of instant coffee. He really didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. Stu Pot was some character, whose head had been hit entirely too hard. He ran his free hand over his dark wash jeans and stared at the window, sun beaming through it. A complex but troubled mind such as his own couldn’t handle to think about what their future held for much longer until he felt a headache coming on. Ugh, his stomach felt like it was punching itself repeatedly. His brain had a similar feeling. Why did he take him home? Did he actually think he was to start a successful band with this young bloke? Nearly instantly did he then wish to kick 2D out of his flat. However, just as he opened his mouth to speak, that easily distinguishable southern English drawl yanked back his attention.

“Murdoc? You’re making that face.”

The lack of patience Murdoc had was quickly running thin, “What face?” he glared up at 2D.

“That one you’d make before you’d start talking. I-I mean really talking, you know...about your father. Sebastian right?”

Murdoc pinched 2D’s ear and pulled his head down so they saw eye to eye. “Listen here, bloke,” Murdoc eyes burned into 2D’s. “Don't you ever speak of my dad. Do you understand? I never thought that you were going to get better. I always thought that you'd hardly be able to speak. I made a fucking mad decision trusting you. Telling you stories about my lack of a childhood. Don't talk about them with me, don't talk about them with anyone else. Don't even fucking think about them, faceache! D’you understand me?”

2D wasn't answering; it seemed as though he wasn't able to considering that his face was turning bright red, trying to not yelp from the pinching pain. The bassist released 2D’s ear and pushed him back a bit. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of rum and walked into the dusty living room, leaving 2D to sit on what Murdoc had just said and pour his own coffee. Murdoc didn't know what he should feel like. Guilty? No, he didn't feel guilty. He was still fuming with anger. With that, he gazed at the label on the bottle, put the bottle to his lips and tilted back his head. The amber elixir flowing down his throat. No, he definitely didn't feel sorry about what he'd done. He definitely felt a bit frisky though with all that alcohol keeping him running. It had been quite some time since he'd done anything naughty. Birds didn't come by as much anymore, leaving Murdoc to his cigarettes. It was depressing really, he wanted to do something about it. Blocking out 2D’s upset expression, he walked back into the kitchen, empty bottle in hand. He leaned up against the counter, picked up the handset of an old rotary phone, pausing as if to remember something. Using his pointy fingernails, he spun the finger plate to the desired numbers. His head turned to see 2D slowly sipping coffee, the receiver picked up some noise from the other end and he listened. A disheveled but airy song filled his ears and a warm smile crept across Murdoc’s face.

“Mm, hello?” 

“Good afternoon, my lovely little lark” the bassist crooned.

As soon as those words left Murdoc’s lips, 2D’s head snapped to attention. Eyes fixed on the shorter man, whose fingers stroked the cord of the phone so affectionately. He couldn't help but wonder what changed and how it changed so quickly. Wasn't it just a moment ago that Murdoc nearly plucked off his ear? The bassist had a sinister look on his face seconds before. It puzzled 2D and he didn't know what to do but stand there and watch him romance whoever was on the other end.

Murdoc chuckled and used a low soft voice that 2D couldn't quite make out. It put his mind in a tailspin, not being able to know what was happening before him. Wooing his lover over the phone, maybe. Who knows, he might have a girlfriend.

“Oh of course,” Murdoc cooed, “whenever is most convenient for you. ...Brilliant, I'll see you then.” With that, he hung up and turned around to meet the uncomfortably close face of 2D. His eyes widened. “Err, yeah? Can I help you?”

“That ya girlfriend?”

Murdoc cocked an eyebrow, “No, why should it matter to you?” He poked 2D’s chest sharply with his finger.

Stepping back a bit and rubbing his chest, 2D shrugged. “I mean, it doesn't really. I was just wonderin’”

God, 2D looked on edge. Taking a look at the younger man’s awkward pose, Murdoc nearly felt bad. “...I bet you're hungry aren't you?”

Another sudden change in conversation; 2D barely knew what to expect anymore. Murdoc was so unpredictable. “Eh, not really.”

Shaking his head in slight annoyance, Murdoc dug his worn wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. “You need food, dullard. Last time you ate was breakfast yesterday morning. Fifteen pounds enough to get you by?” He looked up at the now spaced out 2D, his deep black eyes burning holes through him. “Listen, take this. Get some breakfast and come back, yeah? I need to set some things set up. I'm trusting you to come back.” Murdoc’s mismatched eyes shot a stern look 2D’s way and the blue-haired bloke seemed to understand.

With a nod, 2D took the money from Murdoc’s outstretched hand. “Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Muds.”

A strange sensation of warmth overcame Murdoc’s face. Was he blushing? No, at least he hoped not. He nearly charged at 2D and tackled him to the ground, but he held back. After the door closed, Murdoc let out a breath he briefly held tight in his chest. “What kind of pet name…?”

Nearly an hour and a half had passed by and Murdoc was growing impatient. It could not possibly take so long to get a bit of breakfast. It was lunchtime now. The dolt probably lost his way. With a sigh, Murdoc rose to his feet and used his fingernails to scratch his exposed chest. As soon as he buttoned up his shirt, the door opened and he felt a long sigh escape his chest. He heard a harsh bump and some frustrated mumbling before 2D appeared in front of him. Murdoc crossed his arms and stared in 2D’s eyes, seeing how long he could last before shifting his own eyes to something less unsettling. “What took you so bloody long?”

Scratching the back of his neck, 2D set down a brown paper bag on the table. It neatly rested beside the still-opened vinyl turntable. “Well you see what happened was, I went out and there were so many places I could go, yeah?” By the sound of his voice, 2D sounded like he was still outside in awe and was taking in as much as he could.

“Right, right. Too many to choose from.”

“Y-Yeah...yeah. Oh Murdoc, you haven't eaten for awhile either so I got you some food too since I had enough left over.” 2D extended his lengthy arm to put his hand on Murdoc’s shoulder. Murdoc felt a sharp chill run up his spine. The simple touch shook him and he didn't know what in the world to do except stand there like a corpse and just stare.

“...Can you go fetch a new shirt for me in my room?”

The odd request puzzled 2D and he slowly nodded his head. “Yeah uh, but don't steal my food.”

Murdoc watched the blue-headed sod disappear around the corner and scrambled to the black rotary phone, dialing the same number as before. He panted in worry. _Pick up...Pick up you damn bird, come on_. A rustling sound was picked up by the receiver and that airy voice came rushing back to him, nearly making him want to hang up and forget the whole thing. “Hey err-”

“Murdoc, what is it darling? I'm getting ready just for you, you'd bend over and die if you saw me right now.”

The devil crafted the interior of a man, wiring his heart to what his briefs held inside. At least that's what Murdoc liked to think. But luckily enough for him, Murdoc didn't have much of a heart, or so he thought. “Stop.”

“Stop what? Making you all red in the face?”

“No, stop getting ready. I'm not seeing you this evening.”

“...I-...I’m sorry?”

“Do not come by. Not tonight, not tomorrow, never. Don't come.” He hissed before slamming the phone down. “For fuck’s sake...2D?”

2D’s voice sounded a bit distant since he was deep in Murdoc’s room. “Yeah?”

“Forget about the shirt, just come back here.”

“...Ok.”

Murdoc could hear the sound of 2D’s humongous shoes approaching. As he stepped into view, Murdoc saw his empty hands. “Sorry Murdoc, I-I didn’t know which shirt to choose because there are some nice ones in there that I like. I just didn’t know which kind you wanted.”

“No, it’s ok. Were there too many choices?”

“Mhmm, yeah, too many choices. It was hard trying to pick just one, you know.”

“All too well, mate,” Murdoc said flatly as he watched 2D empty out the contents of the paper bag onto the table. “Say, I think we should go out for some drinks tonight.”

“Go out?” 2D felt blood rush to his cheeks, “B-But didn’t you have that girl coming over?”

“Nope, her uh...dog died.” _Nice one_ , Murdoc thought. Suddenly 2D’s black eyes turned glossy and his face twisted into a deep frown, “Wh-What? How? Is she ok?”

 _No...is he actually sad about a non-existent dog’s death?_ Murdoc nearly laughed at the thought. He was kind of cute in the sense that he was so oblivious. Pulling himself together Murdoc made up an explanation as quick as he could. “Oh she’s fine but the dog er, the dog got hit by a car. High speed though, didn’t feel a damn thing.” Murdoc bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter as 2D began to choke up. Oh dear, he couldn’t go through with this. He didn’t want 2D to cry. “Mate, no, no,” He snickered, “I lied, I’m just kidding!”

Looking at Murdoc, 2D sniffled, “You lied? Then what happened?” He asked while wiping his eyes with the long white sleeve of his shirt.

“There’s no dog, lad. She called back and said ‘No’.”

“Oh…”

There was that confused look again. Murdoc had yet to try to figure out what was going through 2D’s mind when he made that blank face. “...So how about a pub tonight?” Murdoc asked.

“Yeah,” 2D smiled, “...I’d like that.”

Murdoc felt a genuine smile creep across his mouth. Maybe he was right about taking 2D into his flat. Just then, he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Can we stop by my apartment in Crawley though? To pick up some of my keyboards?”

Upon hearing that, Murdoc’s head nearly spun round on his neck. He had forgot that he planned on starting another band. And this time, there would only be success. He was driven more now than ever before.


End file.
